The one that doesn't make sense
by Team Free Will
Summary: Crack-fic. Sam and Dean get an unexpected visitor with a dire message. Things go downhill from there. - Please read the warning!


**A/N:**

**Ghost:** I was possessed. I swear. I'm better now.

**Mikiya:** Thanks for the ride, I needed that.

**Disclaimer:** We don't own any of the characters in this. Thank God. Everything you recognize belongs to Erik Kripke and the CW.

**Warning:** This is a crack-fic. Per definition that means a fic that doesn't take itself seriously, was written to parody some of the plot-twists this season and basically allowed us to make fun of the writers of the show. It is not intended to be serious writing or reflect our personal thoughts about the characters. So if this is not your cup of tea:

**!!! DO NOT READ !!!**

You have been warned.

No bunnies were harmed during the writing of this story.

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**The one that doesn't make sense**

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Someone was banging on the motel room door.

Sam and Dean jerked awake, Dean automatically pulling his knife. It was much bigger than Sam's knife. Not the he was compensating or anything.

After a look at Dean, just to make sure it was okay – because Dean knew best about opening doors – Sam got up and carefully unlocked the deadbolt. He let the door swing open…

On the other side was a face from the past, dark and round and friendly. Missouri Mosley huffed as she pushed on the door, shoving Sam aside.

"Move, boy! Don't you know better than to leave a lady on the front step?"

Dean watched her come in already grinning. On the one hand, he was filled with happiness because she was an old and dear friend… on the other, just the sight of her reminded him of his dear, beloved father, and the ache of that loss welled up in his heart and in his eyes.

"Oh, Missouri," Dean said, his voice husky with emotion. "I've missed you."

Sam nodded behind her back, from his corner.

"OH, Dean!" the older woman cried, hurrying through the room to him. "I have a message for you! A special message, because you are so special… so important to God and the side of Good! And you need to listen, Dean!"

Dean nodded, focusing intensely on the psychic. "Sam, get her a chair! I need to hear this."

Behind Missouri Sam was moving and held up one of the two chairs of the room for Dean to inspect—because Dean knew best about which chair to use for guests of course. Dean inspected the offered chair thoroughly, then nodded and Sam set the chair down.

Missouri didn't take her warm, sympathetic eyes off Dean as she sank down onto the best chair she had ever sat on and gave him a once-over.

"You look good, Dean, so much better than all those years ago, you truly are a sight for my sore eyes."

Dean smiled warmly at her and took one of her hands in his, offering her silent comfort and support as the older woman closed her eyes for a moment to find the right words to say.

Seconds passed, turned into moments which turned into minutes. After some undefined passage of time she finally opened her eyes and smiled the most stunning smile at him.

"You, my dear, were chosen!"

His heart rejoiced instantly at those overwhelming news and he beamed up at his brother.

"You hear that, Sammy? I was chosen!"

Sam nodded, but there was an odd look in his eyes…one that had Dean ready for him to rebel.

"What? Sammy? Can't you just be happy for me! Can't you deal with the fact that just _once_, it's about me, not you?"

Sam crossed his arms, glaring at his brother, ruining his fine moment. "Be chosen all you want, Dean. I don't care. I've already been chosen, and it's not all it's cracked up to be. Believe me."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's because you were chosen by _Evil_. It's entirely different when you're chosen by Good!" Then Dean had a thought. He looked at Missouri. "I was chosen by the white-hats, right?"

"Yes, Dean, my poor little dear. You were chosen by the Good, because you _are_ good!"

Dean manfully bit back tears. "I don't feel Good, Missouri. I've done… horrible things."

"Yes," Missouri confirmed gently, "that's true. But you've been forgiven for those things. All good people are." She gave Sam a foreboding look.

Sam hung his head, knowing he could never make up what he'd done.

"So I've been chosen?" Dean asked, pulling her gaze back to him. There was really no reason to look at Sam at all.

"Yes," Missouri started, but was rudely interrupted by Sam, who was obviously craving attention.

"Look, we already know you've been chosen by Michael, Dean. What new information is she giving us?"

Dean abruptly stood, his hands fisted. "You've never supported me!"

Sam nodded quickly. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll be quiet."

Dean glared, but kindly settled back down, letting his brother off the hook. He turned gentle, soulful eyes on Missouri.

"It's just that," Sam spoke up again, drawing the attention again, "Chosen by Good or chosen by Evil… either way you're just somebody's butt-monkey. Just saying."

Dean dismissed him with a wave of his hand and turned his attention back to the psychic.

"Oh, Missouri, tell me, what do the Good want me for? What can I do to pass on my inherent Goodness and save the world? Is there anything I can do for dear ol' Mike?"

Missouri's eyes lit up at his self-righteous words and she held her hands up to the heavens above, smiling lovingly at the older hunter.

"Your wisdom is endless, Dean Winchester! You shall be rewarded for this glorious, selfless act in ways you can't imagine just yet. Sit down and listen closely, my child, to what I need to tell you!"

"I'm ready," Dean said bravely, ignoring his jealous little brother as he rolled his eyes. So long as Sam didn't speak, or look anyone in a room in the eyes, Dean could let the little stuff go. He was just that awesome of a big brother.

Missouri took a breath. "What I have to tell you may shock you boys, but it's time you know the truth. No psychic is as powerful as me… and I am no psychic. I'm really the arch-angel Azrael." She paused for dramatic affect, but both Dean and Sam just shrugged. Almost everything in their lives turned out to be either an angel or a demon… so they failed to be surprised.

'Missouri' pouted a bit at the lack of reaction, then spoke again: "More than that, I am the twin to Azazel! The Yellow-eyed demon who changed Sam!"

This got a reaction as Dean swiftly leapt to his feet, his knife at the demon/angel's throat, while Sam scurried out of the way. "How dare you!" Dean shouted. "How dare you be the sister of the creature that ruined my life and killed both my parents and changed my brother! I hate you for what you and your kind have done to me, even though you never really touched me in any way!"

The psychic-formerly-known-as-Missouri watched as Dean shed a single tear to show that he was really, deeply moved by her revelation and then smiled at him in a motherly way.

"Fear not, my dear champion, this is fate, it always had to come down to this and I know that you do not want to hear this, but this is all you-know-who's fault. If you-know-who had never been born, none of this would have happened. You and your parents would live a normal life."

Both of them shared a knowing, heavenly look and nodded briefly at each other.

Sam was frowning in the background, then cleared his throat, mumbling something, but his voice was so hoarse from disuse he could not be heard by either of them.

Missouri continued with her praise.

"And now it is _your_ destiny to rid this world off this huge mistake. Michael needs you, child, he needs your strong body and your sharp mind so he can battle the evil—", once again she paused for dramatic effect, "—the EVIL spawn of Darkness and Despair who is going to ride You-Know-Who just like you ride your beloved Impala. Together you and the heavenly, ever-righteous, always mindful and generally completely and utterly omnipotent warrior of Heaven shall smite the EVIL from this world and bring back love, peace and happiness! Rejoice with me!"

And they rejoiced plenty.

Indeed they did, until the wet blanket, also known as Dean's burden, cleared his throat.

"Dean? Why are you rejoicing? She hasn't told you what Michael wants you to do yet. You could be setting yourself up for something nasty."

Dean turned hurt eyes on his thoughtless brother. "You just have to steal everything from me, don't you? My Lucky Charms when we were little, the attention of my teachers, Dad's love."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Dad's love? The same guy who always gave you the extra cookie? The one who hugged you and turned his back on me? The one who cast me out? The one who had secret plans to kill me? That dad's love? Are you insane?"

"Shut up, Sammy!" Dean growled. "Everyone knows that Dad loved you best because he made me watch out for you!"

"And then told you to _kill_ me," Sam pointed out relentlessly.

"He had to do that!" Dean said. "You were dangerous! And he was right! I should have killed you! If I had, the world would still be safe! Oh, Dad, why couldn't you love me."

"Seriously?" Sam asked.

"You are a cold hearted-boy, Samuel," Missouri said. "Not to see you're brother's pain and try to soothe it. He has issues."

Sam blinked at her. "My dad had plans to _kill_ me… I have a few issues myself."

"See, so selfish, so self-centered," Dean muttered. "Do you see what I have to live with?" He turned away to hide his manly tears of fatherly and brotherly rejection.

"It's his bad blood, child," Missouri soothed. "His demon blood. It changed him, and he's Evil. It's your burden to carry, Dean. You have to be strong."

Sam caved at the mention of his demon blood. Though he had been sold to the demonic before he was ever born, he knew it was his fault. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

"Not good enough," Dean sniffed. "You're nothing but a monster."

"Really, really sorry. Please," Sam's eyes welled up, "I'm sorry… I'm a monster."

Dean gazed on his broken brother disdainfully. "No chick- flick moments, Sam," he declared.

"No chick-flick moments," Sam agreed, blinking back the tears before they could fall, and handing Dean a tissue.

Dean took the peace-offering gratefully and blew his nose, then turned his decidedly not-teary eyes on the arch-angel again. Gone were the tears in a second as he beheld the beautiful face and the warm, loving smile that greeted him.

"Do not despair, Dean, Michael and you will save the world, it is your destiny!" Missouri exclaimed and once again held her hands up to the heavens. Dean nodded, eagerly awaiting the divine words that would finally turn his life into something meaningful.

"What does Michael want from me? How can I help him?"

The former psychic turned the most blinding smile on Dean and held out her hands for him. "You, my child, are going to be the infallible's vessel, you are going to say "yes, oh yes" to him and help him destroy the evil bastard."

Dean scrunched his forehead into a slightly irritated frown – which in no way ruined his perfect, angelic features – and then asked again, "Yes, I get that, but _how_ am I going to help him?"

"By saying "yes, oh yes" to him, of course!"

"I know. I get that I'll have to say yes, eventually. That fact has kind of been ground in pretty deep. Why are you here?"

Missouri beamed at him like he'd just solved a long-division problem. "Oh, Dean, you really are remarkable! You could 'sense' that there was another message to my message. Michael has chosen a fine vessel."

"Uh…" Sam looked between them nervously. "Didn't I already say that?"

"Hush, tainted one!" Missouri hissed. "You are not needed here."

Sam looked crestfallen. "Didn't you used to like me?"

"Yes," Missouri admitted haughtily, "But that was before I was an angel, and like all things of the Good, had to abhor you in favor of your more talented, better looking brother."

"Oh," Sam said… going off in the corner for a sulk.

"What's my message, Missouri… though I think I'll call you Missi from now on, because I give everyone annoying little nicknames."

"Of course you do," Missi said, "It's part of your God-given talents. Now, as for what Michael needs from you. Dean, he needs his vessel healthy and strong… you've seen the size of Lucifer's vessel. The man is a freaking giant… and been recognized by Men's health as one of the fittest men in Hollywood. Right now, Lucifer's vessel is in such better shape than you. Michael needs you to step it up, Dean. I know, I know this will hurt. I know it will be hard…" Missouri bit her lip, looking sympathetic. Dean felt his heart twist for her… and for himself at the reluctance… the fear in her eyes about telling him.

"Dean. I'm sorry. But Michael – God – they need you to eat your vegetables."

Dean started at her in horror. Then gulped a breath. "_Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!"_

The wail caught even Sam's attention. A mighty feat when he was in the midst of a full-on pout. The younger but so much bigger brother was on his feet in an instant and moved to stand in front of Dean, glaring at the psychic… the angel… the black woman with hatred in his eyes.

"How could you say that to him? You know what he has been through all those years, how your kind tortured him in any possible way! Don't you think he has paid enough? Don't you think he has given enough? How can heaven want _that_ from him??"

He was a scary sight with his soulful eyes bearing down on her, his oversized paws clenched tightly at his side and that annoying mop of hair hanging into his eyes. She briefly considered cutting it with a flick of her hand but then decided that he was going to need it for the battles to come and just looked calmly at him.

"You of all people should know that it is completely your fault, Sam Winchester. If you hadn't shaped up in those long, long months when Dean had to suffer in Hell, if you had done what was asked of you, if you had become the alcoholic we had secretly hoped you would find inside yourself then your poor brother wouldn't have to do this right now, he could go on eating all those burgers and fries and drink his beloved beer."

She paused for a moment, watched how the realization of her true words hit the younger Winchester and then leaned forward slightly, regarding the reeling boy with an earnest expression. "And I haven't even told him that he seriously needs to lay off the pie."

Behind Sam, Dean crumpled to the ground at those devastating words, the miserable wail of denial echoing through the dark motel room.

"_Noooooooo_, not the pie, I beg you, Missi, everything but the _pieeeeeeee_!"

But the newest angel was not bent to mercy by his piteous cry. "It has to be done, Dean. Sam must be defeated."

Sam nodded sadly. "I'm sorry, Dean. She's right. I need to be taken down, and you're going to have to do it. Why, oh why, did I ever read Men's Health and take up jogging as a hobby! Dean has given up everything for me! His childhood! His father! His chance at having a normal life! And now my good, clean lifestyle will destroy the world unless my brother now sacrifices the one thing that makes him happy!"

Dean stood up, sniffing and nodding through Sam's speech, but now he shook his head. "I love pie, I do, but it's okay, Sam. I like twinkies too."

"No twinkies," Missi said.

Dean looked crushed. "How 'bout candy?"

"No."

"Soda-pop?"

"Nope."

"Carnival food?" Dean asked a little desperately.

"No, Hun."

Dean went white around the eyes. "Then what's the point in living? Seriously? Why should I care about the world when everything I loved about it, I'm not allowed to have anymore?!?"

Missiouri patted his hand. "You can still have all the anonymous sex with unknown girls you want."

Dean blinked. "Okay, that'll work."

Sam came over to him and hugged him, so very relieved that everything would be all right now and they could start working on destroying the most dangerous villain in the world. Missouri watched them happily and had to fight very hard not to break out spontaneously into some serious rejoicing again and she almost trembled with the intensity of her joy.

After the hugging –which would never be talked about, of course- Sam sat down at the laptop, looking up at the two of them with a questioning frown.

"So how do we track our goal down? What do we know about it?"

Dean looked thoughtful. "Well, he doesn't sleep much, he doesn't eat at all, he always wears many, _many_ layers of clothing and he always cries when his brother isn't near. Oh, and don't forget those puppy-dog-eyes…"

Missouri nodded wisely at that. "Yes, beware those eyes, that's what we were always told at angel school. Beware the eyes."

Sam looked between them, confused. "I don't have puppy-dog-eyes."

Dean looked amused while Missi shook her head at him.

"It's the devil that makes him lie even when he doesn't need to."

Sam frowned. "Hey, I'm not lying. I don't even know what puppy-dog-eyes are."

"Dude," Dean said. "Get off it. We all know about the eyes."

Missi nodded, patting Dean comfortingly. "The Devil's secret weapon. Mix puppy-dog-eyes with the Lord of Hell and you get the greatest Evil of all time - Samifer!"

"_What_?" Sam said.

Dean shuddered. "The Evil One with the power of puppy-dog-eyes. I can't imagine the devastation that will follow."

Missi nodded. "That is why Sam was chosen, Dean. He was born special. The power of the puppy-dog-eyes is a rare gift. The Yellow-eyed demon forced his blood on infants born with the innate ability to charm and engender trust with their gaze alone. He hoped to create a part demon with the trait. And Sam, being so weak, became that hybrid! Now when Lucifer takes him over, the Devil himself will posses the power of the puppy-dog-eyes!" Missi touched Dean with a kind hand. "Oh if only it had been you who was born with the power of the puppy! You are so much stronger than him!"

"Hey!" Sam complained. "Okay, yeah, I broke. But so did he!"

"Stop your mindless chatter, weak one," Missouri hissed. "You are too stupid to even know about the eyes, so why should anyone listen to you?"

She turned to Dean. "That's why Michael needs you, Dean. Years, decades, of exposure to Sam's puppy-dog-eyes have given you a little bit of immunity. He will need that when Lucifer possesses Sam and becomes Samifer. With the power of the puppy, Samifer will rule this world!"

Behind them Sam was muttering to himself. "Why don't I know anything about this? I could have used that decades ago, get me that cat I've always wanted… Maybe it would have even worked on Dad—" He turned back from them, reaching for his laptop and then began to type away at it.

Dean watched him and shook is head in sympathy, little did his brother know just how special his powers were, now that Missouri had told him about it he could remember countless times where he had seen them at work. Now he knew just why they always had to pay less for their rooms, why they were always served first in restaurants and bars and why Sam had always got what he wanted. He could even remember how he had given in to each and every one of Sam's demands even when he had known, deep, deep inside of him that he really didn't want to give in to him.

Missouri was nodding at him. "Yes, I can see what you are thinking, and you are right, even you have fallen victim to his powers, but not anymore, now that you know about them, now that you know he is using them you can fight against them, you can beat this. You can beat _him_!"

"Hey!" Sam almost squeaked in protest at that and glared at Missouri accusingly. "Dean would never do that to me! Kill me to stop me, yes, but never that!"

The old woman crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring the younger but taller Winchester down. "Samuel Ashley Winchester, don't you dare try using those eyes on me! I am immune to them, I will not bow to you, not now, not ever!"

"Ashley?" Dean exploded. "Your middle name is Ashley?" Dean started laughing so hard he almost fell over. "Seriously? _Ash_ley? Like Evil Dead?" Dean's laughter notched up a bit. "Hey, Sammy," he gasped. "Say 'Swallow your soul Swallow your soul!" Dean doubled over, laughing too hard to stay upright. "How could I not know your middle name was Ashley!?!"

Missouri was not amused. "Because he cast a spell on you when he was six, Dean, to make you forget. The seeds of evil sprouting even then…"

"I had to!" Sam shouted. "You see how he is about that. Imagine that every day, _all day long_."

"Don't get your panties in such a twist, _Ashley_! Muhahahahahahaha…"

Sam caught Missouri's eyes. He lowered his head just a bit. He bit his lip. His lashes sank, just slightly, and he gazed at her openly, holding nothing of himself back. "I'm sorry, Missouri. Really. I know I'm evil. I know I don't deserve anything. But please… If he keeps going like this, he's going to strain something. You know he's not in the best shape…"

The arch-angel nodded. The Satan-spawn had a point. "Dean Francis Winchester, control yourself this instant."

Dean's laughter cut off like someone had thrown a switch, as Sam's eyes widened. "_Francis_!?!"

"It's better than _Ashley_," Dean sneered.

"Not by much. And at least I've got the Evil Dead guy. What have you got, a talking mule?"

"Enough, both of you!" Missouri snapped. "And, Dean, I told you to settle down!"

Dean frowned, looking at the angel. "Wait. You told me and I did it because Sam asked you. Did he just use Puppy-dog-eyes on you?"

The psychic angel gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh God, help me! I met the Eyes!"

Sam let lose a triumphant laugh but froze when both of them turned to scowl at him. Missouri's once gentle eyes suddenly burned with the wrath of the heavens and she glared at him.

"How DARE you do that? How DARE you use this power on me? AN ARCHANGEL?!? EXPLAIN YOURSELF!"

Sam actually backed away at the outburst, almost falling off his chair. "What's with the capital letters?" he grumbled under his breath, then slowly got to his feet, holding out his hands in front of him to try and calm the angry woman—angel—psychic—_Missouri_ down.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

He didn't get to say more, suddenly something tackled him from the side and threw him to the ground. At the same time he could hear Dean's panicked voice.

"No, don't look at him, Missouri, he's doing it again, don't look at him!!"

A hand came down on his eyes and he couldn't see anymore. He was too stunned to do anything at first, but when he felt Dean grab his hands with his other hand he started to struggle against his brother.

"Stop that, Dean, let me go, what are you doing?!"

"I have to stop you! If I cover your eyes, you can't use them against us!"

Sam twisted Dean's wrist, and rolled, pinning him. "Look, just calm down, okay? I wasn't using any puppy-power or anything! I was just talking!"

Dean began to relax. So Sam was completely shocked when _Missouri_ raised her hand and he went flying, slamming into the wall of the motel room hard enough to crack the drywall. He slumped, closing his eyes and rubbing his head. "Ouch."

"That's what you get for using your unholy gaze to calm your brother! Dean! Blindfold him!"

Sam felt the fabric wrap around his face only moments later. "Using your powers against your only brother," Dean muttered. "Don't take that off, either!"

Sam blinked under the blindfold, completely stunned. For one moment he expected to feel cuffs slide around his wrists because, surely, they didn't really think he would just stand there, blindfolded, without taking the damned thing off, did they? But nothing happened.

"Uhm, Dean?" His voice sounded muffled beneath the fabric and he just barely resisted the urge to tug it off. "You—you still there?"

"Of course we are here, tainted one, where else would we be?" That was Missouri and she sounded… far away, actually.

"Dean?"

"Uhm, yeah?"

His brother sounded even further away and Sam cocked is head a little, completely irritated.

"Dean… you don't really want me to wear—_that_ for the rest of my life, do you? I mean, how am I supposed to help you like this? Or—or do research and stuff?"

"Help us?" Dean asked. "Uh, Sammy – we're hunting you."

Sam frowned. "Yeah… but not until Lucifer gets me…"

"Until you become _Samifer_." Missouri sounded like she was across the room now. "Do you really think we would accept your help in killing you?"

Sam though about it for a second. "Yeah. I do… at least you should. Who would be better at finding my weaknesses than me?" Sam frowned again as he heard odd noises coming from the other side of the room. "What are you guys doing?"

"Like I'd tell you," Dean said. "You'll just go telling it to Lucifer."

Sam huffed. "I've never told Lucifer anything other than 'No!'. What do I have to do to get to you two to lighten up?"

"You can't sway your brother anymore, Samuel. And no that we've covered your eyes, you can't use your powers on him, either!"

Sam rolled his eyes, under the blind fold. "That's it. This is getting ridiculous. I'm taking this thing off."

He reached for the cloth wrapped around his eyes.

It wouldn't come off, no matter how hard he tried to pull it away from his eyes he couldn't move it. "What the hell—" he grumbled under his breath and turned into the direction of where he had last heard his brother from. "Dean, come on, man, this is ridiculous, don't do that… Dude, you know me, how could you do that?"

He didn't really care that the words sounded too much like a whine even to himself, he wanted that thing off and he wanted his brother at his side and for once not listening to some angel and how the hell had he gotten himself into that again?

"Dean, please?"

"You hear that, champion of the Good? You hear how he is already begging for his life? You must be strong now, you must do what you have to to keep him in there, you hear me, boy?" Missouri sounded so cheery he instantly felt threatened and tugged harder at the cloth.

Dean didn't sound so sure. "You really think that's necessary? I mean, he wouldn't do anything to me, right? He is still my little, little brother, isn't he? Lucifer isn't even in him yet and—"

There was a sound like a _smack_ and Dean growled something under his breath, while Missouri snapped at him. "I told you I would use a spoon."

"That hurt!" he heard Dean cry, and then there was a clatter. Sam tracked the noise as Dean and Missouri wandered around him in a rough circle.

"Uh, guys?" He asked nervously. "You're creaping me out here."

"See!" the former psychic-turned archangel crowed. "Already we have affected the evil in him!"

"No," Sam argued, "I'm just worried about that spoon…"

_Thwack_.

"Owwww," Sam whined, rubbing his head.

"There's more of that waiting for demons who are rude!"

Sam tried to rub the sting on his head around the blindfold. "That really hurt, you know. And I couldn't even see it coming!"

"Evil can never see good coming!"

"Well, he can now," Dean contradicted her. "We're done here. You can let him take off the blindfold now."

Sam felt the cloth relax somehow. He snatched it off.

"What did you do to my freaking computer!?!?!"

It was a massacre.

The worst thing he had ever seen AND he had seen a lot. It was worse than watching Lucifer rise, worse than the big fight between him and his Dad and by far worse than watching Dean eat one of his favorite hamburgers.

His computer was a mess. They had slaughtered it –though some part of his mind was wondering distantly how they had managed it without a sound- turned its insides out and then left it broken on the floor. They had broken off the keys from the keyboard, some of them were scattered around him. It took him a long moment to find out that they spelled a word.

SAMIEFER

He briefly wondered where the second E came from, but then his mind wandered back to the fact that they had executed his most loyal companion. It was such a low blow he couldn't even grasp the idea that they had really done it.

It was just too much.

He felt the tears well up. He was helpless to stop them.

"Why?" he wailed. "It was innocent! Dean hadn't even used this one to surf for porn yet! Why, oh why would you slaughter an innocent!" He dropped to his knees, reaching for the shattered parts. "You were too god for this world, brave little soldier." He began to weep.

"Weep not your crocodile tear, infidel," Missouri proclaimed. "Its cyber-life was not sacrificed in vain. We know you picked your nose when you typed, leaving a trace of your essence in the very keys. This gave the computer a connection to you! We have arranged it in a Devil's Trap, and we have trapped the greatest devil of them all!"

Sam flushed. "I do not pick my nose!"

"Dude, I live with you," Dean reminded him.

Sam glared. "And should I point out what you do in the shower? Or in the Impala?"

Dean blushed, glancing nervously as Missouri. Who was thumping her spoon in her hand.

"We will deal with this later. Now, this is only Samifer's attempt to turn us against each other. For he knows he cannot escape the Devil's trap! Evil never can!"

Dean tapped her on the arm. "Then why is he leaving?"

"_What_?"

An expression of bored contempt on his face, Sam hoped in and out of the broken bits of machinery a few times. "It doesn't seem to work on me," he pointed out, unable to stop himself from stating the obvious.

"But, how is this possible?!?" the archangel sputtered. "That is designed to hold evil! And has your DNA to tie it down! How are you doing this?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Hello, not evil! I've been telling you two that for freaking hours now."

Missouri eyed him up and down, shaking her head vigorously. "No, that's not right, that's not how the story is supposed to go, you are supposed to be the bad one, you are supposed to be Lucifer's vessel, to go darkside… You drank demon blood, Sam, you *are* evil, can't you see that?"

Sam stopped hopping and turned to glare at her. "I am *not* evil! And you know why? Because that story _sucks_! It has way too many plotholes! No character-development _at_ _all_! Come on I've spent three entire seasons angsting about the demon blood, about going darkside, becoming evil… Do you really think I would just go and drink demon blood out of the blue? Am I the only one who thinks something like that would be way out of character for me? Because it is! I am *not* evil!"

Both of them looked stunned. Neither could say a word for at least a whole minute.

"But—but—" Missouri couldn't get the words to work for her.

Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest, glaring at her. "But what?"

Dean was watching the two of them with growing trepidation, he knew that tone of voice of his brother, he knew what was coming. He knew he should warn the psychic—_angel, dammit, ANGEL_—but somehow he just couldn't form the words.

His tongue felt numb. His limbs were getting heavy. Fear chilled his blood.

Sam was going **meta**.

"Please," Sam said, staring at the once-psychic-hunter-now-turned-magically-into-an-archangel-woman. "I spent years terrified of what I was… do you really think I'd stoop to drinking demon blood just to make it worse?" Sam stepped out of the net of computer innards, easily slipping free from the devils trap. "And about these marvelous powers – why the hell would I give up my humanity to be able to cast out demons when I could use an exorcism to get the same effect?!? I'm the best damn hunter out there with an exorcism. I have the entire ritual memorized, and I can get through it in under four minutes! How does that make _any_ sense?"

"Because you're evil, Sam. You couldn't help it," Missouri argued.

"If I was so freaking evil, how come I've never once triggered any reaction from any kind of ward or spell or anything else? For that matter, how could any of that crap work for someone who's innately evil? Bite me!"

"You can't bring logic into this, Sammy," Dean said. "I know how frustrating this is, believe me. The whole 'suddenly we can kill hell hounds thing – hell, if we could kill hell hounds, why the hell did I go to hell in the first place? Why didn't we just kill them when they came after me? And then I remember. This is bigger than logic. This is _epic_."

"Oh c'mon, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes, being the rebel that he always had been. "Not even you can blindly follow this plotline. Seriously, do you really want to go down as some weak-assed, character-less, pointless _vessel_? Dude, you were awesome for being the badest hunter, the endless partyer, and a charming man-whore. You _rocked_. Literally and figuratively. And now you're reduced to crying every other week and whining about how horrible your life is, like some kind of Emo brat. I can't stand to see you like this, Dean," Sam looked to almost be in tears. "And me? I'm a blood-drinking, power hungry, necrophilic? Seriously? When the fuck did all this happen!"

Dean shifted unhappily. "I do hate the whole being a vessel thing. It's like I'm not important anymore, I'm just a meatsuit for some character we've never even seen. Wasn't I enough of a character to make people happy? I was pretty happy…"

"And you were _cool_," Sam agreed. "You were awesome and you had a standing no chick-flick moments rule that really was a no chick-flick moments rule! And we _hugged_! We hugged all the freaking time! Think about it, when was the last time we hugged?"

Dean frowned. Tears filled his eyes. "I don't know," he said brokenly. "I just… I don't know anything anymore. It's all gone so wro-"

"No!" Sam snarled, stomping up to him and shaking him. "Don't you dare go all emo on me now!"

"I just don't want to be a freaking, vessel, Sam!" Dean wailed. "It's, it's, it's so _lame_!"

Sam pulled him close. "I know. I know what you're going through. I went through it last year. But we can save you. We can! We just have to work together again, really together, not this crap-fest of just going through the motions."

"Don't listen to him, Dean!" Missouri shouted, sounding desperate. "He just wants to turn you from your destiny as the single star of the show! He wants you to share the spot-light again! He wants you to turn form the good! That's his nature! He's evil!!!"

Dean looked miserable, tears running down his face as he stood caught between being a big brother, and being the most important vessel on earth.

Sam let go of his shoulders, turning him loose. "She wants you to be the vessel, to play out some over-done lame-assed plotline that ends with either one of us dying – again – or both of us dying. Either way, this world, the world of supernatural, will be gone. All so you can play the 'savior' for these douche-bags. "

Sam shook his head, stepping back. "If that's what you really want, I can live with it. They've already done everything they can do to me. All that's left is to kill me – again – which, frankly will be a relief. All I want is for you to be happy. Are you happy being the 'leader' and the 'vessel'? Are you?"

Before Dean could answer that, Missouri stepped in, shoving herself between the brothers and blocking Dean from Sam's line of sight. She raised a hand at Sam, pointing at him accusingly, a scowl darkening her features.

"Stop it, RIGHT NOW, do NOT use your magic on the GOOD one!"

Sam cocked is head, staring right into her eyes. "Make me!" he growled.

She blinked, then drew herself to her full height which easily dwarfed the younger Winchester.

"Do not think of me as weak, Samuel Ashley Winchester! You do not know my true nature! I am one of them, I have the power, I can make you do whatever I want! Behold!"

She turned and pointed at Dean. A strange light engulfed her hand and then disappeared in Dean's head before Sam could do more than yell his brother's name.

"FRANCIS!"

Dean blinked. Once.

And sat down.

And started knitting.

Sam watched his brother drop to the floor and pull out a bag of yellow yarn that had appeared as if by magic. "No," Sam said quietly, dropping down next to him. He felt his throat tighten up, the tears well. "No, Dean. You have to fight it. You have to. You can't let them do this to you too."

Dean looked up, bemused. "I've always knitted, Sam. You know that."

Sam's eyes closed in pain. "No, Dean. They just wrote that into you. Like the way you went to high-school until you were eighteen and still dropped out and got your GED. It's just… random crap. You don't knit, Dean."

"But I do," Dean countered reasonably. "It's the only way I have to express my deep, sensitivity and feminine side. I _feel_ a lot, you know. This relives that stress. Besides, 16% of our audience knits, so we should reflect that."

Sam felt the rage. It hadn't been there for a long time -- years maybe – now it was back with a vengeance. He stood, pulling himself to his full height, which while not absurd or freaky, was still plenty tall enough to tower over the 'archangel'. He felt the smile on his face, felt its evil cast; but that was alright. He'd always enjoyed playing the bad guy.

"You said 'I am one of them'," he said to Missouri. Had the satisfaction of seeing her blanch at his expression. "What did you mean by that?" He was still smiling.

"That, uh, I am an angel of the Lord!" Missouri back-peddled.

Sam kept coming, step after relentless step. "Angel? No. You also said 'You do not know my true nature'. I know angles. But I don't know you. Therefore, you're not an angel."

Missouri gasped at his logic, almost tripping as she backed away from him. "You just stop, Sam. You don't know what I could do to you."

"Oh, I think I do," Sam said, still advancing. "I think you're a _writer_." The word was a hiss, filled with contempt and scorn. "And even though you can twist this world all to hell, you have a problem, don't you?"

"Stay back!" the psychic-turned archangel- turned writer warned. "Just stay back before I hurt you!"

Sam's smile got bigger, darker. "No, you can't. I figured it out. You're powers don't work on me, not directly. You can't just… make me knit. Because I'm immune to the power of others. All others. And why? Because _you wrote me that way_! You wrote that I was immune to all powers used on me directly, powers that try to change _me_. And then panicked when you realized you couldn't control me. So I bet you tried to write it out of me… that's the reason my powers kept coming and going. But you know what? You can't write it out of me! Because you _wrote it in me that you couldn't_! That's why you need Dean to have to kill me! Because you can't touch me!"

"Relax, Sammy…" Dean looked up from the hoodie he had almost finished knitting, giving Sam a reassuring smile. "Nobody is trying to make you do things. And nobody sure as hell is trying to make _me_ do things I normally wouldn't do. You know me, you really think I would let her do something like that to me? Huh?"

Sam didn't bother to turn around and glare at him, he kept his gaze focus on the cornered woman.

Missouri couldn't meet his eyes, she kept glancing at the door as if she was planning an escape.

"Don't try it," Sam warned. "I can stop you."

'Missouri' shook her head. "And that's where you're wrong, Sam. Because we do have a way to get you to do what we want. Why do you think we sent Dean to Hell?"

With that Missouri waved a hand at Dean, and suddenly there were three demons, dragging him away.

"_Sammy_!" he screamed desperately, clawing at the carpet.

Sam turned from Missouri, throwing himself toward his brother. "Dean! No! After everything else you've done to him, after all the times you made him cry, and grieve, and beat the crap out of him for no good reason, there is no way I'll let you do this again!"

And Sam leaped into battle, stabbing one with the knife, while Dean took out two with his knitting needles, because Dean always killed more monsters than Sam. Even when he was knitting.

When the battle was over, Sam spun, ready to confront the writer-wearing the guise of an archangel – wearing the face of Missouri Mosley.

But she was gone.

"Damn it!" Sam hissed.

"I know," Dean joined in. "I just finished her hoodie!"

*

"Seriously?"

"Dean…"

"Dude, _seriously_?"

"Dean, man, come on…"

"No, Sam, I've had it. Up to here."

"Dean, look, we got away and—"

"No."

"But it will be pointless, she won't be there anymore."

"You don't know that."

"Uhm, yeah, actually I do."

"Why?"

"Because why would she? We know who—_what_ she is now, why would she keep pretending to be just another psychic?"

"…"

"See? You know it, too. She won't be there and I really don't want to go back there."

"Not that we're going anywhere in the near future…"

"Dude, I wasn't driving!"

"You could have warned me!"

"I didn't see it coming!"

"_You_ didn't see it coming? You just went all meta on one of them, found out we have been manipulated for all our lives—"

"_You_ have been manipulated, they couldn't touch me—"

"Sam..."

"What? I'm just saying—"

"Whatever, you uncover the biggest lie we have ever been told and you didn't see that freakin' _plothole_ coming? It was right _there_, right in the middle of the road!"

"If it was so fucking obvious how come _you_ didn't see it? I was looking at my laptop—"

"Yeah, that's another thing I don't understand, how did it repair itself? There is not even a scratch on it?"

"Another plothole?"

"I don't know… seems pretty common in this area…"

"DEAN, look out!"

"What, _what_?!"

"Dude, did you see that?"

"What?"

"Get out of here."

"What the hell—"

"Get us out of here, right _now_!"

"Sam, that's just a bunny—"

"DRIVE!"

"Dude, relax, it's just a fluffy, cute little bu—"

"Dean, for once in your life, _listen_ to me!"

"For the love of God, stop _squeaking_, Sam!"

"I am not squeaking!"

"Dude you totally are!"

"Dammit, Dean, didn't you see that? That was no ordinary bunny, that was a plot-bunny!"

"Oh no…"

"Yeah. And I think it saw us."

"Ah crap."

*

The end?


End file.
